The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (32 page)

Darcy rose later than usual. Even though he had fallen asleep with Elizabeth in his arms, he had slept fretfully, with bizarre nightmares, none of which he could recall in the morning light. All that remained was the depressing feeling of dread pressing against his chest. His first thought was of his wife, and he had rolled over to reach for her, but Elizabeth's side of the bed was empty. He rubbed his palm across the linens. Cool. She had left the bed some time earlier.

Regretting having missed her, Darcy swung his long legs over the bed's edge. Scrubbing the sleep away with his knuckles, he glanced about the room. Nothing appeared out of place, and so he caught the banyan and made his way to his chambers. Sheffield had laid out his clothes and had delivered fresh water for Darcy's ablutions.

“Do you wish me to fetch your morning coffee, Sir?” his valet asked as he slipped into the chamber from Darcy's dressing room.

Darcy shook his head in the negative. He was anxious to see his wife. He and Elizabeth had never gone to bed in the midst of an argument. True, he had apologized, but Elizabeth had not actually said he was forgiven, and somehow that bothered
him. The remnants of his dreams inspired him to settle the rift between them. “I should speak to Mrs. Darcy before the day becomes too hectic,” he said in explanation.

Sheffield draped the shirt over Darcy's head. “Hannah has indicated that Mrs. Darcy has gone for a walk about the grounds, Sir.”

Darcy frowned his disapproval. It was not unusual for Elizabeth to walk the grounds of Pemberley alone, but this was different. “Why did Hannah not accompany her mistress?” he demanded as Sheffield buttoned Darcy's waistcoat.

“I understood Mrs. Darcy had refused both Hannah's company and that of the colonel. The Mistress was heard to say she required privacy to consider the evening's events.” His man set the jacket upon Darcy's shoulders and smoothed the seams.

His wife's continued disquiet bothered Darcy. It was not like Elizabeth to carry forward her anger. Normally, Elizabeth's natural contestations would flare hot and then fizzle just as quickly. She often thought herself right even when she had erred, but his wife was not an unreasonable woman. And even though Elizabeth had objected to Mr. Stowbridge's treatment of the maid, something deeper must be at the base of this sudden need for solitude.
Could it be our recent loss
? Despite the countenance she presented to the world, his wife had not taken well the loss of their child. “Hurry along, Sheffield,” he said with a bit of irritation when his man fidgeted with Darcy's cravat.

Elizabeth had not meant to stray so far from the manor house when she had sought the outdoors to clear her thinking, but the waterfall had called to her. The steady flow of the water cascading over the jagged cliff spoke to the constancy of life, and she required that reassurance to fully understand her disquiet.

Her husband's obstinacy had been the plums in the Christmas pudding. She did not fault Darcy for his overprotective nature, but Elizabeth had found it ironic that the colonel had treated her with more respect for her intelligence than had Edward Fitzwilliam's illustrious cousin. “That is because you did not give your heart to the colonel,” she argued aloud. Even with her condemnation of Darcy, he had sought to shelter her from Society's disdain. Yet, she still had felt the sting of her husband's autocratic attitude. A shrug of resignation shook Elizabeth's shoulders. “I knew the way of him when we married,” she chastised her shadow. “And my husband's cousin is likely not to extend such tolerance to his own wife. As most women think to change a man's bad habits after they marry, so does a man lose his easy way with a woman when he perceives himself the Master of the house.”

“So true,” a deep voice said from behind her.

“Ah, there you are, Darcy,” Edward remarked as Darcy entered the converted morning room. His cousin folded the newsprint to continue his reading. “I had thought to breakfast alone what with everyone late abed.”

Darcy asked distractedly, “Has Cowan departed?”

The colonel frowned as he set his cup upon its saucer. “At the crack of dawn. A tap on my door and a note under the opening announced Cowan's withdrawal.”

Darcy tore apart a hot roll as he strolled to a nearby window. “And the note?” He stuffed a wedge of the warm bread into his mouth.

“Not much. Said he expected to be gone several days. Said he would send word if he was delayed.”

Darcy remained with his back to the room. His eyes searched the grounds for any sign of his wife. “Did Cowan disclose his destination?”

Edward chuckled. “It is not in Cowan's nature to reveal his sources or his suspicions. Yet, never question the man's integrity. I count him among my closest acquaintances.”

“And the Society representatives?” Nothing moved outside the window. Even the breeze from overnight had ceased its ruffling of the young leaves of the nearby line of ash.

“Still abed,” the colonel said with amusement. “For three men so intent on cataloging the late Mr. Darcy's ancient discoveries, the Society men love their slumber more. I have promised Mrs. Darcy that as soon as Mr. Franklyn rises I will secure your cousin's journals. In the uproar of last evening, we forgot to retrieve them from the gentleman's room.”

Oblivious to the rise of the morning mist and the sun's hide-and-seek dance with a white, fluffy cloud, Darcy announced, “As my wife has not returned from her walk, I think it best that I seek her company.”

Edward placed his serviette on the table. “Do you think something amiss?”

Darcy shook his head in the negative, but his body said otherwise. His anxiety could not be hidden. “Would you search the stables and the carriage house?”

“Certainly.” Darcy followed his cousin from the room. They separated in the main vestibule. Darcy's steps quickened as he rushed toward the open courtyard entrance to the gardens.

Elizabeth spun around to find the face of danger. She automatically retreated two steps to the rear as the dark-skinned man stepped onto the cliff face before her. She surveyed the area. She had unknowingly fenced herself in. When Elizabeth had sought the waterfall's peace, she had chosen a complementary cliff face where she could watch the stream form high in the surrounding rock to slide over the jutting edge to a tranquil lake below.

Unfortunately, the space she occupied was not only solitary, but also very narrow. The stranger easily blocked her retreat. “Who are you?” Elizabeth caught her breath and defiantly challenged the man's gaze. She demanded and was pleasantly surprised that her voice did not betray her fear. “This is private property.”

A bemused smirk turned up the man's lips. “I hold an invitation from the land's owner,” he said in a highly accented speech.

Elizabeth knew without doubt that this stranger was one of the gypsy band. Suddenly, her earlier romantic musings regarding the Roma appeared quite foolish. It was clear that the man's presence spoke of danger. She worked hard to disguise her fears. “I understood your group planned to leave your camp behind.”

He took a half step closer, and Elizabeth's back stiffened in response. “Not for three more days, Milady. Andrzej has spoken to the house's master regarding our departure.”

“My husband,” she said as a means to warn the man away.

He said with a sneer, “Then you are Mrs. Darcy.” Elizabeth swallowed hard, fighting off the impending dread, which had crept along her spine. “Andrzej did not speak of your beauty.”

If the situation had not been so frightening she might have enjoyed listening to the man speak. There was a soft roll of the ‘r's and a growling hiss on each ‘s,' but she could find no thrill in the intended threat in the stranger's tone. “I think it best if I return to the house.”

“You do not care for my company?” he asked as if she had disappointed him, but Elizabeth recognized the ruse.

She set her shoulders with a haughty slant and started around the man. “Mr. Darcy will be most displeased if you impede my return.”

But the stranger did not withdraw. Instead, he caught her arm and forced Elizabeth to grasp his shirtsleeve to right her stance. “Do you think I care what will or will not please your husband?” he growled. He caught her chin in his large palm and shoved it upward. He said seductively, “I would give a care if I disappointed
Mrs.
Darcy, however.”

Elizabeth jerked her head to the side. “Then you should know, Sir, I am greatly displeased. Unhand me immediately.”

He laughed lightly. “Ah, my pet. You will not be so prickly when you know me better.”

Elizabeth cringed. “If you persist in this folly, ‘
prickly
' will be an understatement,” she declared. “I have no desire to know you now or ever. I ask you once again to unhand me.”

“And if I choose otherwise?” he asked in a sinisterly low tone. Elizabeth could smell the stink of his breath and the unusual spicy scent of his slicked-back hair.

“I shall fight you with every breath of my life. Whatever you plan shall not come easily,” she said with conviction. And she would. Elizabeth would fight this man. Fight through the paralyzing fear, which had locked her knees into stone fortresses.

The man tightened his hold on her arm and pulled Elizabeth closer. He whispered into her ear. “Where is the amusement in such actions?”

Without considering the consequences, Elizabeth spun away from him. Jerking hard against his hold, she used a counterbalance move, which Darcy had showed her one evening when they had playfully wrestled before the fireplace in her sitting
room. She jerked hard to throw her attacker off balance and followed that move with a firm shove against the man's chest. She turned to run, but the Rom caught her skirt to pull her toward him.

Elizabeth wound up her small fist and struck the interloper between the eyes, at the bridge of his nose. It hurt her hand more than she had anticipated, but she had no time to nurse the pain. The gypsy loosened his grasp as he automatically reached for his nose; therefore, she shoved hard and darted around him.